The 63rd Hunger Games
by AVeryKlaineFangirl
Summary: "In the arena, you only get one wish. And it's very costly." "It costs your life." "Oh, no. It costs a lot more than your life. To murder innocent people? It costs everything you are." It's time for the 63rd Hunger Games. 14 year old Verbina Turtlewood from District 11 must face the torment of the reaping. Will it be her who's fate is decided? Or will it be someone she loves?
1. Prolouge

Prologue.

"**War. Terrible war. Widows, orphans, a motherless child. This was the uprising that rocked our land. Thirteen Districts rebelled against the country that fed them, loved them, protected them. Brother turned on brother until nothing remained. And then came peace, hardly fought, sorely won. People rose up from the ashes and a new era was born. But freedom has a cost. When the traitors were defeated, we swore as a nation we would never know this treason again.**

**And so, it was decreed, that each year, the various districts on Panem would offer up in tribute, one young man and woman, to fight to the death in a pageant of honour, courage and sacrifice. The lone victor, bathed in riches, would serve as a reminder of our generosity and our forgiveness. This is how we remember our past. This is how we safeguard our future."**

**President Coriolanus Snow.**


	2. The Life and Death of Verbina Turtlewood

**Chapter 1.**

Darkness. This darkness, it surrounds me like a thick, musky cloak. I feel it tighten around my innocent neck, a snake slowly pleasuring in my pain.

But where am I? I try to turn my head, but my body restricts me. Reluctantly, I unclench my fists, which have turned white from tension, and slowly feel the surface on which I am crouched on. It feels crumbly, soft against my hands, which are rough from years of working in the orchards of District 11.

I clasp a handful of the strange material. It feels familiar. Bringing it close to my nose, I inhale deeply. This is a mistake; I can tell as it floods my nostrils it's earth. Coughing and wheezing, I expel the muck from my body.

Brushing my hands on my equally dirty trousers, I try to move my head again. Failure. Panic returns, rising within me like a blazing inferno. What is happening to me? Where am I? Am I alone, or is there someone – something – out there, stalking me?

I break through the restraints that bind my neck to its place, and stand up. Too quickly. Too quickly, I realise, as confusion floods my brain, clouding my eyes and muddling my thoughts. Almost blindly, I stumble around in the mysterious darkness, like a zombie in broad daylight, trying to find any sign of life.

And that's when I come face to face with a pair of eyes.

Surprise. Sly satisfaction. Deathly poison. That's what I discover when I look into its – their? – eyes. The figure moves its face so the moonlight – which I hadn't noticed before in my blind panic- illuminates its face so I can see it clearly.

Glimmering green eyes. A cunning mouth, slit open with a mischievous grin. Hair the colour of death, falling to the shoulders. It's a girl, I can see that now; she must be no older than 14 in age.

Yet she seems completely at home holding a pointed knife in her small hands.

"You scared, District 11?" her hateful, no; _fatal_ words pierce the frosty air. "You scared of what I'm about to do to you?" she lets out a laugh, not a childish laugh which I should know better than to expect, but a laugh of an assassin. A murder.

A Scream. I don't feel it leave my mouth, but I hear it ring out in the dense gloom. The girl pins me down using her pointed elbows. My teeth attempt to sink into her pale flesh, but she simply lifts her foot to my face and grinds down.

A bloody mess. One eye forced shut, the other drowning in blood. Blinded, arms moving wildly in an attempt to save my life. Another foot, this time on my wrist. A crunch of a bone. A tickle of a knife point tracing around my lips. A small trickle of ruby-red blood, slipping into my gaping mouth, down my chin. Another slash. My nose no longer recognisable under a mass of ripped flesh and fresh sickly blood.

But I feel nothing but fear. Fear of what the girl will do next, fear of who else may appear, fear of where I am.

"Goodbye, district 11." The girl shrieks into what used to be my ear, and I feel, but not see, the movement of her hand as she brings a knife up into the air, aiming directly at my pulsing heart.

A flow of air. A burning pain. A judder in my heart. A scream. A laugh. Another single scream leaves my lips, begging for anyone, anyone to help me, anyone-

I gasp as my eyes fly open, sitting up in my bed. My bed? I reach down and stroke the rough blanket that I am entwined in. Yes, this is my bed, in my home, in my District. It was all a nightmare.

I'm still stroking the rough fabric, attempting to calm my racing heart, when a figure bursts into my room. I look up in instinct to discover it's my Mum, Evelyn.

"You ok, pumpkin?" her old nickname for me sooths me a little.

"A nightmare." I state bluntly, not wishing to go into details. Understanding, she rushes over and embraces me in a hug, the kind only a mother could give.

"It's ok, sweetie, it's ok…" she whispers into my ear, rocking me as I sob into her arms.

I don't know how long passes. It could be seconds, minutes, possibly hours. However long it is, it isn't enough. Not today.

Because today is the day of the reaping.

The door creaks once more, and my Dad comes in. He smiles sympathetically when he sees me curled up in my Mum's careful grasp.

"Hey, you two." His green eyes aren't shining like they usually are; today they only have one emotion – fear.

He slowly wanders over to the teary mess that is mother and daughter, and joins in the embrace. Today is the one day where families have to stick together.

"Get dressed." Mum detaches herself from my grasp and gives me a quick kiss on my forehead. "We have a special breakfast today."

She takes my Dad's hand in hers, and they walk out of my room, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

Of course, they aren't my 'real' parents. My biological mother and father fled their district a few weeks after I was born. My father, who I have been told was called Aish, had been caught hunting illegally in the forests surround District 12. He had been sentenced to Death, but somehow managed to evade the Peacekeepers and flee along with his wife, Sebina, and me. My birth name was Rose, but my adoptive parents, Autumn and Felix, disliked that name. President Snow is known for his roses, and they wanted as little to do with that name as possible. I was re-named Verbina, a name I love and treasure.

Sighing, I force myself out of my daydream and make my way to the oak dresser that hides shamefully into the corner of my box-like room. Pulling open the rickety draw, I discover my Mum has kindly placed a special reaping outfit on top of my normal clothes. I l pick it up carefully, examining it with my grey eyes. It's a smart dress, cream with a floral pattern decorated on the fabric.

Sighing, I begin to undress. There's no point in trying to drag it out so I can be late; my family and I will just be punished.

Soon, all too soon, it's time to go. As I step out of the safety zone that is my shack of a home, I can't help but wonder, _who will the Capitol claim as their victims this time?_


	3. The Reaping

**Chapter 2**

The square is packed with children and their families of all ages, from the young 12 year olds that have just become eligible for the Reaping, to the strong 18 year olds that are hoping to scrape through one more year without getting chosen. I push past a Mother comforting her young child, and find the check in table.

The Peacekeeper who sits there shows no emotion, his face blank.

"Hand, please." two words, empty of feeling. I reluctantly hold out my hand.

The needle pierces my skin, and I have to contain the yelp that rises in my throat. Wincing, I feel the Peacekeeper's gloved hand grasp mine and direct it towards the records book. The paper feels rough against my bleeding skin. Luckily, that part is over – but it's just the beginning.

Unsurprisingly, I find myself being herded into a roped off area full of other 14 year olds from District 11. The reaping will soon begin, and despite all attempts to calm myself, my heart still insists on beating faster than a Trackerjacker finds its prey.

As I scan the crowd that surrounds me, something – someone – catches my eye. It's my best friend, Raine Applebee. Him and I, we've been best friends since I can remember. He was the only one, aside from my parents, who was willing to accept me, despite me not being from district 11.

I suddenly find myself staring at him. Damn my daydreams! He catches me and smiles, one that can only mean one thing; _good luck._

In return, I mouth _May the odds be ever in your favour_, exaggerating my lip and hands movements to imitate those of Capitol heritage. He smiles back, fighting back a laugh, but his dark eyes remain full of hopelessness.

Our eye contact is broken when a haughty figure strides proudly onto the stage in front of us. It has to be Ozias Yellowleaf, the District 11 escort. Only he would be strange enough to dye his hair that sickly brass colour and decorate it with golden plated beech leaves.

Once he is up on the stage, he confidently struts over to the microphone that has been intentionally placed on the stage. As soon as his pale, lemon-coloured fingers touch the head of the metal object, a low tapping sound fills the area, a sign for everyone to be silent.

Well, it works.

"Welcome, citizens of District 11!" his low and manly voice echoes throughout the mass of terrified people. "It is the time of year that brings pride and courage to certain individuals, for the young children of the Districts to show the whole of Panem how brave and fearless they are, Ladies and Gentlemen, it is time for the 63rd Annual Hunger Games!"

Had he made his announcement in the Capitol, there would be roaring rounds of applause and cheers. Here in the Districts, though, the Hunger Games are not seen as a sport. More like a death sentence for those unfortunate enough to be Reaped.

"To begin, a film made by President Snow himself." a small shudder of disapproval runs through the gathering of people, adults and children alike. He is the monster that condones these horrific Games.

The film is the same as every other year. Telling us how we rebelled, how we deserve the fate that is the Hunger Games, how forgiving the Capitol are. Not that anyone cares anymore.

President Snow's voice booms out from the large speakers that enclose the stage. I hear it, I hear his voice, but I hear no words. I've heard them all before; they are now etched permanently into my brain.

"And now, we will discover the two courageous youths who will be District 11's tributes this year!" How can he be so happy, the man sending innocent children to their premature deaths? He must have a heart made of stone to apply for such a job.

Ozais Yellowleaf moves towards the first clear bowl, fingers twitching. "The lucky young gentleman is…" he drifts off as he plunges his hands into the bowl, mixing around the papers until one slip of thin material finds his outstretched fingers.

The rustling of paper. The cough as he clears his throat. The movement of the eyes as he reads the name inscribed upon it for the first time. The sound of his voice reading it out. The sight of Raine Applebee slowly making his way up to the stage.

It's the silence of the people that surround me that brings me back to my senses.

Raine. Has. Been. Reaped.

I want to run, I do, I want to sprint onto that stage, grab his hand, and run away. Where to, I don't know. But how can Raine have been reaped? He has never taken out any Tesserae; his older brother wouldn't let him. He's only 14, so his name will only be in there….what, three times? But apparently that's enough, because he's standing on the stage, Ozais holding his hand high in the air, saying something about how brave he is, how courageous he is.

Brave? He doesn't really have a choice.

Suddenly, he's onto the second bowl, searching for the female tribute. I'm still dazed. There's nothing I can do, I know, because you can only volunteer for those of your own gender.

I'm still in a daze when he reads out my name from the slip of paper.


End file.
